


Getting it Right (The Second Time Round)

by zaan



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: First Time, Foot in the Mouth, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Mishaps, Post-Canon Cardassia, julian is an idiot, light and fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-01-27 06:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 12,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21387400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaan/pseuds/zaan
Summary: Julian is trying hard not to think about Garak.It's not going well.It doesn't help that he's sitting in a shuttle on his way to Cardassia.  Just like he was six months ago ...
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, William Riker/Deanna Troi
Comments: 235
Kudos: 223





	1. Surprise!

**Author's Note:**

> So I needed something fun and light to balance out the more serious fic I'm working on: Who We Are - a post canon Garashir romance in my Unfamiliar Affections series. Check it out!

Julian is trying hard not to think about Garak. 

It's not going well. 

It doesn't help that he's sitting in a shuttle on his way to Cardassia. Just like he was six months ago ...

_ Six months ago ... _

Julian picks his way along the rubble, the glare of Cardassia hot on his back, following the directions Garak sent him. After much prodding from Garak (they have continued their weekly literature debates via subspace, subject to Cardassia's unstable but steadily improving communications system) Julian has finally made time to visit.

Now all he can do is wonder why he didn't come sooner. He's suddenly aware of how much he misses Garak, how much he's looking forward to seeing him.

It's not like hasn't thought of Garak before now, hasn't missed him, but it's nothing like what he's feeling now – nothing like the almost physical wave of feeling that slammed into him as soon as they entered orbit and he saw Cardassia below him, red and real. 

He's almost there. If memory serves (which of course it does) the house (shack, he supposes, correctly) is up around the next bend. Despite the heat, and the long walk, and the even longer shuttle ride, he is giddy with excitement. He's going to see Garak. 

He knocks on the flimsy door, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet in his impatience. When the door finally, finally opens (mere seconds later) Julian opens his mouth only to leave it hanging when he sees Garak - not the Garak of his memories, not the suave and sophisticated spy - but a realer Garak, tired and dishevelled, his silky hair long and wild, his eyes leaping to life as he sees Julian. It's like Garak literally blossoms before him and Julian swallows, feeling it like a punch in the gut.

The next thing he knows he's kissing him, desperately, and they stumble back into the shed. For perhaps the first and only time in his life, Garak is completely and utterly surprised, though in true Garak fashion he recovers immediately. To judge by the way he grips Julian's shoulders and kisses him back hungrily, Julian surmises, to his great satisfaction, that the surprise is not an unwelcome one.

It's not until Julian is impatiently pulling at his tunic that Garak stops him, grabbing his hands and staring intently into his eyes. 

"Are you sure?" he asks hoarsely.

Julian is confused. Isn't it obvious? He's going almost mad with desire and, as much as he enjoys his conversations with Garak, he doesn't think he's capable of forming a complete sentence at the moment. Somehow he manages to get a firm yes out before capturing Garak's mouth again and toppling them backwards onto the narrow bed.

The sex - all of it, and there is a lot - is fantastic, and more than makes up for the stuffy room and the lumpy mattress. He sleeps deeply, Garak's solid bulk plastered against him, and wakes up smiling, when there's another brilliant, mind-boggling round of sex – sex with Garak!

Julian doesn't think it can get any better, not only the sex but sitting in this shack, with Garak, the unpalatable breakfast insignificant compared to the sheer joy of being able to talk to Garak again.

If only he had hadn't opened his mouth.


	2. Two feet in the mouth

They are in bed again. Julian is raised up on his elbow, looking down at Garak, who smiles languorously back up at him.

"God, I'm surprised at how good that was," says Julian, voicing the first thought that comes to mind.

When Garak stares at him, Julian suddenly realises that his actual meaning - _As good as I was expecting that to be, it was even more amazing!_ \- might actually sound more like - _I set the bar really low. Congratulations for exceeding my expectations_!

"No, I mean it was great!" he says, scrambling to recover. Horrified, he finds himself slipping into panic mode, where in a vain effort to make things better anything can – and usually does – leave his mouth. 

"It was amazing!" he blurts. A smile – or is it a frown? - Julian fears it's a frown, twitches at the corner of Garak's mouth.

"Awesome, even!" he adds, with a forced enthusiasm, wincing, not sounding convincing even to himself. Garak's smile – Julian's sure now it was a smile – drops into a definite frown at the modifier _even_.

"Even better than Ezri!"

He freezes, wishing, not for the first time, that the path from his brain to his mouth had not been augmented along with the rest of him. That, or for a nice handy phaser with which to shoot himself.

Garak, fortunately, after another hard stare, seems to take pity on him. "And is Commander Dax well?"

Grateful, Julian starts babbling. "She is, she's doing really well. Thinking about applying for the command path. We're finally friends again, after the break-up, which was kind of messy. But what break-up isn't, right?"

Garak gazes at him thoughtfully. "I don't believe you ever mentioned the reason for parting ways," he says, mildly, and that alone should have tipped Julian off, he thinks later. Instead, relaxing, feeling himself on firmer ground, Julian smiles. 

"Oh, well, she wanted to get serious," he says offhandedly, "Get engaged and start a family, that kind of thing – and of course I've no interest in any of _that_, what with my career and ... " he trails off seeing the look on Garak's face. 

"So ... then this?" Garak questions slowly .

"Well, um ..." Julian stutters, words now abandoning him.

"You might recall," says Garak and oh, there is both acid and ice in his voice, "You might recall that yesterday I asked you, _specifically_, if you were _sure_."

"I thought you meant," Julian mumbles meekly, gesturing vaguely with his hand, "You know ..."

"_Please_. A blind, deaf, half-dead anosmic targ could see you were interested in _that. _You've _read_ the literature, doctor. Surely you could have used that unduly lauded brain of yours to draw _some_ conclusions." Garak is now sitting up, glowering at him in naked fury.

Julian frowns, his mind unhelpfully presenting him with the full text of every single Cardassian novel he's ever suffered through for this man's sake. He skims through them rapidly in his mind. Duty to the state. Sacrifice. Blah, blah, blah. There. Sex (though hardly recognizable through all the layers of agonisingly nuanced euphemisms). As he pieces the patterns together (the novels are nothing if not repetitious, for which he is now unusually thankful), it starts to dawn on him. 

Cardassians don't _do _casual sex (Dukat notwithstanding). In fact ...

He swallows, feeling suddenly queasy. In fact, sex before marriage is still an outright taboo – _just think about how they treat illegitimate children, Julian! –_ and most Cardassians wait until marriage. Hadn't he wondered sometimes why Garak never took up with anyone, not even for a one night stand? And ...

And did he just deflower Garak???!!!

And is it wrong that just how much that thought is turning him on? 

He realises the look on his face is one of horror but can't do a thing about it, just watch as Garak angrily gets out of bed and starts dressing, grabbing Julian's clothes off the floor and hurling them towards him. Julian starts to dress hurriedly, tripping over his pants and cursing as he hits the ground.

"Garak, I – "

Garak is livid. There's no shouting or recriminations, of course, just cold, implacable politeness.

"It was just _lovely_ seeing you again, doctor, but I'm afraid I'm really rather _busy,_" Garak says, hustling him half-dressed out the door.

Julian has had more than enough angry lovers to know that anything he says right now is only going to make things worse.

The next day he rather hopefully sends chocolates and an apology, suggesting they meet and see some of the sights. 

The chocolate box is returned, squished flat, and on the back of the apology is an angrily drawn map of the red light district.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Garak a virgin? Maybe - he does believe strongly in traditional Cardassian values. But then again, maybe not - just because it's not talked about doesn't mean it isn't done. And you can bet that if he did have any liaisons that nobody would ever have known about them.


	3. Returning to the Scene of the Crime

_ Now, on a shuttle to Cardassia _

Julian hasn't talked to Garak for six months. It's for the best. He knows it's for the best, because it's true, he _doesn't_ want to be tied down to anyone, his career has _always _been the one thing that's really mattered, and he doesn't want to lead Garak on or start a relationship under false pretenses. So it's for the best.

Really.

It's a well trodden - indeed trampled – path: Palis, Leeta, Ezri. And yes it hurts, it always hurts. But then, after a few months it stops, he forgets. He's never had any regrets.

Until now.

He hasn't been able to stop thinking about Garak, dreaming about Garak, obsessing about Garak, and frankly he's sick of it. He should be over it by now.

Especially now.

He looks again at the letter half-crumpled in his hand, hardly daring to believe it, even now, after he's read it and re-read it a hundred times.

_"To Lt. Julian Bashir: We hereby request and require your presence aboard the USS Starship Enterprise to take up your duties as her Chief Medical Officer..."_

True, he's a last minute replacement, but still – the Enterprise! A two-year exploratory mission in the Gamma quadrant. Which is why he's sitting in an over-crowded, over-hot, under-functioning shuttle flying to Cardassia to meet the Enterprise, which has been stationed there for the last month in negotiations with the Cardassian government prior to beginning her mission.

His fingers tingle as they reverently handle the letter. Which brings to mind the second letter, plastered underneath the first, which he's read and re-read just as many times as the first. 

_"Doctor," _

He can't help noticing the omission of 'my' or 'dear', telling himself to be thankful that Garak had at least deigned to answer this time, unlike the sixteen other letters he had sent with varying degrees of hope.

_"I was not aware of your posting to the Enterprise - which as you know has been in Cardassia this past month - but I understand it was a last minute arrangement."_

Was that a slight? Surely not. Garak, as Julian has discovered – repeatedly – over the last six months, can hold an almighty grudge - but he's not petty.

_"I must say that I take it as a kindness your informing me of your assignment."_

That part puzzles him. Why is it a kindness? Garak hasn't seemed to care about anything else Julian's been up to the last six months. Does this mean he's forgiven him? Julian's heart flutters and he stomps it. After all, there's no allusion to that, no suggestion they meet – just the generic, overly fussy and formal Cardassian ending:

"_In service to the state in which we serve, Minister Garak."_

Julian snorted. Minister, indeed! What happened to plain and simple just-call-me Garak? 

He smoothed the letter out, running his fingertips over the swirl of Garak's signature. All in all a confusing letter, rather than a satisfying one.

A garbled announcement comes over the too-much-patched com system announcing the beginning of their descent. Julian stuffs the letters back in his travel bag and shoves it under the seat. He takes a deep breath, preparing himself for his second – hopefully less disastrous – visit to Cardassia.


	4. Memorable First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For ConceptaDecency who rightfully lamented that the last chapter was rather short.

As Julian pushes through the close, crowded cacophony that is Cardassia's only functioning spaceport, he somehow hears his name being called above the din.

He is both surprised and disappointed as a fresh-ish faced ensign, who has obviously been pursuing him for some time, greets him. She's not the person he wants to see, but that's not her fault, so when she hesitates uncertainly on noticing his barely-concealed frown he apologises and says he's not used to the heat, an excuse she can – and does – readily accept. 

His half-formed plan was to take the last shuttle of the day (there were regular shuttles to and from the ship for crew on leave) which would have given him 5.75 hours on the surface, time enough to, he had hoped, find Garak and ... well, do _something_.

Not that it mattered now. They've held a shuttle back for him, and he has little choice but to follow his appointed guide. As they walk, he casts his eyes around feverishly in an ill-gambled hope, not even realising that he's muttering _C'mon, Garak, damn it_ under his breath until he notices the disapproving sniffs of the Cardassians who obviously believe he's drunk. 

What if he doesn't make it back down to the planet? He can't imagine two years without seeing Garak, without seeing that smile of his that starts in the eyes and worms its way into Julian's gut. What if he never sees that smile again? His stomach churns. He thinks he might hurl his poorly-replicated lunch all over the spaceport, and wouldn't _that _be a lovely way to start his tenure as CMO. 

But the crisis passes, and he's at the shuttle, and then there's only one last taste of that particular, peculiar cinnamon tang of Cardassia's air before he's cut off from her, from Garak, and likely any chance of a reconciliation.

Not that he has time to dwell on this. It's a short flight, and the crew are eager to learn about their new CMO. When they land, he's surprised again to find Commander Data waiting for him. Data responds politely to Julian's enthusiastic greeting before - in what is clearly meant to be an apologetic tone - informing him that he is needed immediately at a senior officers meeting and won't have time to go to his quarters, although the helpful ensign takes his bag.

It's not quite how he imagined meeting Captain Picard (of course he has played out the scenario several times over and several ways around in his head, with himself alternately impressing, amusing, surprising and endearing himself to his new captain). As it stands, his hair is poofy, he has sweat stains under his armpits, his uniform is crumpled and his boots are dusty.

Captain Picard doesn't seem to notice, or care. He greets him politely (but not warmly) before he makes the necessary introductions. Julian knows Data and Geordi, has heard of Riker and Troi, but knows nothing about the security officer, a Bolian woman named Soxis Doss.

"You will not have heard, doctor," Picard says, addressing him, "But the Cardassian government has agreed to send a representative aboard the Enterprise for this journey." He paused "I see I don't have to explain the significance of this arrangement," he adds, nodding appreciatively at Julian's widened eyes. 

"No, sir," says Julian. Though Cardassia has swung sharply toward the Federation since the war, a symbolic gesture of this type, so soon after the end of the war, is momentous. 

"Unfortunately," Picard continues, punctuating the word with a displeased grimace, "The proposed delegate – after what I must characterize as very favorable preliminary discussions - has withdrawn their candidacy. They assure us that it is of no reflection on the government's position; however ...."

"However it seems unlikely, given what we know of Cardassians," supplies Riker. "Everything they do has some kind of underlying message."

"_Isn't that the truth_," Julian thinks.

Troy raises her eyebrows at him Julian, catching the tone of the thought, before turning to the Captain. "Is there another candidate?"

"Not yet. I have been assured that the matter is being given their full attention. However, it is doubtful any candidate will be as well suited for the position as Minister Garak."

"Garak?!" Julian blurts out.

Picard frowns, then smiles as the confusion clears. "Of course, you served on Deep Space 9. You are acquainted with Minister Garak, then?"

"Yes, sir," Julian says, sticking to the safe, bare facts.

"Any chance you could find out what's going? asks Geordi.

Oh, Julian has a very – _very_ \- good idea what's going on. Sudden guilt romps around in his stomach like an oversized puppy and his face flushes red. Troi is looking at him quizzically – no, strike that - _everyone _is staring at him because apparently his facial cues are so blatant that even an android can tell he's hiding something. He swallows and tries a smile, then wishes he hadn't, because it doesn't come out at all like he had hoped.

"Is there something you would care to share, doctor?" Picard asks.

Julian chokes back a nervous laugh – Picard is reminding him all too much of his third grade teacher, a grim terrier of a woman with ridiculously bushy eyebrows – and tries for an answer. "I – yes, sir. It's just that, it's possible that Garak - I mean Minister Garak - withdrew because I .. um .. told him I was coming?" 

Picard's face is thunderous brooding darkness.

"I see," he says in a clipped voice, a voice that conveys an obvious, simple solution to the problem. "Doctor, if there's any animosity between you and Minister Garak –"

"I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding," Julian lies quickly, unconsciously half-crossing his fingers. "I'm sure if I went down and talked to him I could clear everything up."

After an unbearable pause, Picard nods. "See that you do. I'll expect a report by tomorrow noon at the latest. Now, on to other business."

Julian slumps back in his chair and tries to make it through the rest of the meeting, bolstered somewhat by Troi's sympathetic glance. As his embarrassment wanes, his outrage waxes. 

Damn that lizard!

How does Garak manage to make him look like an idiot when he isn't even here? Who knows how long it will take to repair the damage that's been done – if, indeed, he's even allowed the privilege of trying! 

He's promised to talk to Garak and, oh, he's going to talk to him all right.


	5. An Unexpected Development

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to all of my American friends

* * *

Julian hopes to find Garak at home, having sent word ahead of his intended visit. If he's not, well – Julian is resolved to plunk himself down on Garak's doorstep and wait, all night if needs be. He can't help thinking of his first disastrous visit, but as he trudges up the road to Garak's house there's no deja-vu. Too much has changed, not just between him and Garak, but all around him. In fact, if it weren't for his enhanced memory he wouldn't be able to swear he was even in the same place. 

The road is no longer cluttered with rubble, the people are no longer ragged. Little pots stand by the repaired houses, filled with bunches of bright yellow and white flowers. All around him is evidence of industry and optimism. He wishes some of it would rub off on him, to speed up his reluctant feet or lighten the heavy ball of dread that's currently crushing his stomach – because apart from his brief outrage born of embarassment, he _knows _he's in the wrong. It is therefore a sweating, nervous Dr. Julian Bashir who arrives at Garak's newly built house. 

It is stately, as befits a government official - not large or ostentatious by any means, but with that sweeping architectural style so beloved of Cardassians – and with its own, lovingly tended garden. The Cardassian equivalent of a cozy house with a white picket fence. Julian takes a breath, raises a determined hand, and knocks on the door. 

He is as surprised as relieved when it opens at once. He had something prepared to say, he knows he had, but for the life of him, enhanced memory be damned, he can't remember what it was. Garak, of course, is never at a loss. "Doctor," he says, and then bestows on him a formal bow.

It's Garak, but not the Garak of six months ago. It's the Garak he knew from DS9, polished and put together, with silky black hair and well-tailored clothes. Only ... it's not, not exactly. Something is different, Garak looks different, and as Julian, tongue-tied, stares at the man, it comes to him. Garak looks ... happy, and not in a way he's seen before. Contented. Like he's where he belongs. 

He swallows and nods awkwardly. "Garak."

Garak stepped. "Please come in."

The inside is different too - new, of course, but also ... homey in a way Julian can't put his finger on. "Garak, Thank you for seeing me. I – "

Garak holds up a hand. "You needn't explain, doctor. I am well aware of the consternation arising from decision to withdraw from the mission – though I must say I am surprised. Another candidate can easily be found."

"The Captain thought there was an underlying message in it, despite your protests to the contrary."

"Ah, I see the Federation is starting to understand my people all too well - although in this case they are mistaken."

Julian scratched his nose. "Um, were mistaken. I might have, accidentally, let slip that we'd had a falling out and that might have been why you didn't want to come.."

The eyes narrow. "Ah. I see."

"It caught me off guard. I didn't even know you'd been assigned to the Enterprise." He doesn't shout, as he wants to, _because you didn't bloody well tell me. "_And then to find out you'd suddenly changed your mind ... I'm afraid my emotions showed rather too plainly on my face." 

Garak sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"

Julian ran a hand through his hair. He's relieved Garak seems to be taking everything so calmly, but he knows that, with Garak, that could mean anything. "I didn't tell them the real reason, or any reason at all – just that I wasn't exactly your favourite person."

"I appreciate that, doctor." He stares at him shrewdly. "And so they sent you to remedy the situation."

"It was that or find another doctor. You're much more important to them than I am, Garak."

Garak hesitates, pacing about the room before turning back. Julian bites his tongue and waits. Finally Garak speaks. "I feel I must apologise."

"You do?" The conversation is not going at all how Julian had imagined it, and he had imagined it aplenty, playing out all the variations of what he would say and what Garak would say ... he should have learned by now he can never predict Garak.

"Yes. It was not my intention to harm your career. Although our misunderstanding was regrettable, I share some of the blame for not making my expectations clear from the beginning. I should have known from your history how you viewed things. I realise the apology is late in coming but, well, holding grudges is something of a family failing."

He smiles a pained smile, and Julian knows they are both thinking of Tain. 

"Garak, I can hardly blame you for your conduct when mine has been so deplorable. I'm just glad that we can maybe put all this behind us. Does this mean you've changed your mind? You'll come?"

"Yes." 

Julian can't help but grin. His career isn't over, he's starting a brand new adventure and, best of all, Garak's going to be there. 

Garak regards Julian, a hesitancy in the look that is uncharacteristic of him. "Doctor, our friendship will not perhaps retain its former closeness, at least not right away, but I would still like to call you a friend."

"I never stopped thinking of you as my friend, Garak," says Julian, relieved for once, from the surprised pleasure in Garak's eyes, that he has found the right words. 

Knowing Garak's distaste for exposed sentiment, and what the conversation must have cost him, Julian tries to return the favour by changing the subject. "I can't believe how much everything has changed," he says.

Garak's chin lifts and his eyes jump to life. "Yes, we've accomplished a great deal. Much due to the hard work of the people – and the largesse of the Federation. We've schools, hospitals, democratic reforms. There have been significant changes in my life as well."

Julian grins. "I can see that, _Minister_."

Garak waved his hand. "A small position, no comparison to your own – Chief Medical Officer of the Enterprise, doctor! You should be proud."

"I am, thank you. Speaking of which, I should be getting back. I have a lot of work to do in the infirmary to make sure it is properly stocked before we leave."

Garak nods. "Of course."

Their parting is cordial, and Julian feels light as he leaves. That lightness follows him as he strolls through the bustling marketplace of Cardassia, on an impulse stopping to buy some of those white and yellow flowers. It carries him through the rebuilt streets where he appreciates for perhaps the first time the sight of Cardassian architecture, rightfully proud and defiant. It sits with him as he returns to the Enterprise, and he is almost humming when he reports to Captain Picard. 

"Ah, doctor," says Picard as Julian enters. "The Minister just contacted me."

"Then he told you he's changed his mind?"

"Yes." Picard smiled a benign smile. "He and his family will be boarding tomorrow."

Julian, dismissed, walks in a daze to the turbolift, thinking _Wait ... What???_ He has stopped floating. Indeed, his body feels as if it has gained two hundred pounds. The Captain's words are bouncing frenetically around his mind, but they don't make any sense.

_His_ _family???!_


	6. An Entirely Reasonable Assumption

"Did that last supply request go out yet?" Julian suppresses a yawn. He's stayed up far too late for far too many nights, wanting to get everything _perfect, _but he doesn't want his staff to think he's trying too hard.

His nurse – a small but intimidating Caitian, clicks her tongue. "No, doctor, but it's scheduled to go out before the end of the day. Did you want to increase the order for the Thiazoprone?"

"Yes. You're thinking the same thing, then?" At Nurse Akeppo's nod, he adds. "Make it six cases instead of three." 

Nurse Akeppo – indeed all of his staff – are among the best he's worked with. He shouldn't be surprised. The Enterprise, unlike Deep Space 9, seems to have the best of everything. The infirmary is large and well-quipped, the lounge is comfortable and classy, the holosuites are free and pre-stocked with thousands of family-friendly programs, his quarters don't have a lingering smell of _something _(he'd never been able to figure out what it was), and he doesn't have to bang his sonic shower to get it to work. Even the replicated food seems to be superior, if blander.

He's especially thankful for the competence with which he's surrounded, because right now his brain's not operating at full capacity. 95% is focused obediently on the complex task of preparing for a long mission in uncharted space: cataloguing all known medical information about species in the Gamma Quadrant cross referenced with the 23 species representing the crew of the Enterprise, stocking enough supplies to deal with any number of known and unknown medical issues, finding space in which to shovel said supplies, and familiarising himself with the infirmary, his staff and their established routines.

The other, unruly, 5% - despite frequent commands to fall in line - is unrepentantly fixated on one thing and one thing only: Elim Garak. Even though there's nothing's nothing to think about. It's there in the Enterprise's records for anyone to see. One Minister Elim Garak –Tir Garak in his new role – accompanied, in addition to various aides and security personnel, by one Nalia Garak and three hatchlings. 

Garak is married.

Garak has kids.

Garak is married and has kids.

It doesn't seem to matter how he rearranges the words. He can't quite get them to make sense. When did this happen? The Cardassian gestation period is 5 months, and it's just over 6 months since he and Garak .... so he must have gotten married – what? The day after?

He swipes the list on the PADD so vigorously it skips to the end and he has to scroll back several pages to find his place.

Maybe it's a political match – they are, after all, more common on Cardassia than a love match. What if it's his fault? What if Garak rushed into this because Julian rejected him? What if Garak doesn't even like her? 

He checks another twenty items off the list in quick succession, humming contentedly at the progress they are making.

Still, Garak is happy. Julian can't deny it. That day at his house Garak was practically radiating contentment - it's the plainest emotion he's ever seen on the man's face. He should be happy for Garak, not – well, he's not entirely sure _what_ he's feeling, but he doesn't think obsessive fixation equates to 'happy'. 

"Doctor? Shouldn't you be heading out to the reception?"

"What? Is that the time? Damn." He curses that 5% of his brain that should have been keeping track of these things instead of needlessly obsessing over Garak. 

"You go on, doctor. I'm all right on my own."

"Thanks." He bolts out of the infirmary, not wanting to be late to the welcome reception for the Cardassian delegation but damned if he's going to show up looking anything but his best. 

Half an hour later, crisp and clean in his Starfleet dress uniform, he adjusts his jacket one last time, takes a fortifying breath and enters. 

The room is a suffocating swirl of Starfleet uniforms. It seems as if the whole of the Enterprise is there to greet the Cardassians – or at least to give them a good once over. 

Julian spends the next frustrating hour introducing himself and being introduced to a dizzying array of people. He only catches glimpses of Garak and his wife, always somehow on the other side of the room, always in the centre of a crowd. 

An hour later, yawning and looking over the shoulder of the rather dreary man from the navigation department who's droning on about star charts, he see his chance. Garak and his wife are close by, standing with the captain. Garak is putting on a show, as always. Julian recognises the sweep of his arm as he exaggerates a story, the leaning in as he confides a 'secret'. Captain Picard is laughing – laughing! Julian didn't think he knew how.

Coming to a sudden decision, Julian ditches his companion and sidles closer until the Captain has no choice but to include him. 

"Ah, Doctor Bashir," Picard says with a sigh of resignation. "May I introduce you to Nalia Garak? Dr. Bashir is our chief medical officer."

Nalia Gark is handsome, resplendently but elegantly dressed (naturally), and her smile is sweet. Julian thinks her nose is ugly.

"Pleased to meet you, Doctor Bashir," she says, holding her hand out awkwardly as if she had just learned how to shake it.

"Likewise, uh," As he goes to address her, a sudden thought pops into his head and out of his mouth. "Is it Garak? Oh god, two of you. I mean ... "

Picard frowns at him, Garak smirks him, but Nalia takes pity and rescues him. "I can see how that could be confusing. Call me Rokan. It's common for us to switch between married and maiden names depending on circumstances."

"Thank you. Rokan it is. It's, um, a lovely dress."

"Thank you. Elim made it for me." She beams at him and he returns it in what Julian can only think of as a nauseating and inappropriate public display.

"Alas, I don't have much call for my former profession."

Julian smirks. "Which one?"

"Any of them." He turns to Captain Picard. "I have a somewhat unusual resume, Captain – gardener, tailor, Starfleet consultant ... and now a diplomat of sorts."

"For which you are eminently qualified," says Picard.

"Yes," Julian chimes in. "Intelligent, charming, sneaky, with a mouth brimming with smiles and spilling forth lies."

There is a resounding, crushing, disapproving silence. If there were crickets (which there aren't, this being the Enterprise and not DS9) their chirping would be deafening.

"Just so," says Garak.

Garak's nod is polite, unaccompanied by the acerbic retort or half-concealed amusement Julian realises he was expecting. Suddenly he understands why, and his face and stomach do a spectacular free fall. He'd fallen so easily into his pattern with Garak that he forgot what the pattern was.

He'd been flirting. 

In public. 

In front of his new wife. 

In front of the Captain who, judging from the tightening lines on his forehead, thought he was being insulting.

Captain Picard strikes up a conversation with Garak about Cardassia. Julian makes an awkward and obvious escape. He grabs two drinks before skulking off to the dessert table to further drown his sorrows in sugar. 

He's on his third piece of Delavian chocolate cake when he looks up into the kind and amused eyes of Deanna Troi. "Are you enjoying yourself, Doctor?"

He huffs and digs his fork deeper into his cake. "Not especially, no. I've managed to do what I always do in new social situations, which is to offend practically every person I meet."

Troi laughs. "Surely you're exaggerating."

"I'm not," he says around a mouthful of cake. Somehow it's easier with Troi being an empath, her knowing his feelings and intentions, because he doesn't have to worry so much about what comes out of his mouth. He waves his fork. "See that serious young Cardassian over by the bar? That's Mantok. He's in charge of Garak's security. When he introduced himself I laughed – because of the idea of someone like Garak needing security is ridiculous, you know? – but of course he took it as a slight against his abilities."

"Oh my."

"Mmm. I could go on. I'm not very good at first impressions. I get nervous and then – well. It took me years to make friends on DS9." He shoves another forkful in his mouth and, as he chews, adds "Garak was my first friend there, believe it or not."

"And now?" As they've been speaking Troi has been loading up her plate, a non-delicate amount of dessert that rivals Julian's own overindulgence.

Julian closes his eyes and rubs at his forehead. How can he explain anything about Garak and himself? Nevertheless, he tries. "As you've probably noticed, my feelings about him are complicated. He's my friend, yes, but – well, nothing's ever simple with him. I never know where I'm at. I mean, I turn around and all of a sudden he's got a family, and he never even told me."

"And that bothers you."

" I know it's ridiculous. I want him to be happy."

"But?"

"But?" Julian furrows brow. "I guess ... we'd just gotten past everything, and I was looking forward to - to things being how they used to be, having lunch and literatures debates and all that. But nothing's ever like it was, is it?" The thought makes him sad.

"No, but it doesn't mean your friendship can't survive it. You want my advice? Get to know his family."

"Thanks," he says. She gives him another kind smile and leaves. Julian heaves a sigh and contemplates his cake, which stares back implacably.

"You should never let Delavian chocolate go to waste, doctor."

He looks up in fluttery surprise to see Garak standing before him, two plates of dessert in his hand and a grin on his face. 

Julian gives him a weak smile back. "I'm afraid my eyes were bigger than my stomach."

Garak's eyes widen. "A medical calamity indeed!"

Julian laughs, relaxing, as Garak no doubt intended. He hesitates, then pushes ahead. "I like your wife; she seems very nice."

He does _not _get the reaction he's expecting.

"My wife?!"

Julian jerks his head up.

Garak is laughing. Julian has rarely seen him laugh like this, genuinely and unreservedly. He laughs and laughs, then gasps and says, "Oh, my dear doctor, is _that _what you've been thinking?" Still laughing, he walks off, leaving Julian as he often leaves him – bewildered, confused, and without even the promise of an explanation.


	7. Mr. Popularity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay between updates! I really wanted to get work done on my kidfic (Who We Are) which is nearly completion, and the holidays turned out to be busier than I thought. If it's any consolation, the following chapter is nearly written so the wait for it won't be nearly as long.

Julian is sitting in Ten Forward, waiting for Deanna Troi. Though they've been meeting here regularly for weeks, he still can't get over how – well, how _civilised _it is. It's clean, for one thing. And the chairs are soft and luxurious - not squeaky and sticky like at Quark's. There's gentle interstellar jazz music instead of Ferengi Pop Rock, the hum of conversation instead of shouts of _dabo, _sedate parties instead of drunken revelery. Everything is free, nothing is watered down, and the waitstaff are there to serve _you _– not sell you holosuite porn.

The differences are personified in the proprietors. Guinan is mysterious where Quark is obvious, subtle where he is blunt, elegant where he is loud . Guinan is also kind, wise, and uncannily perceptive. Julian is sipping – and enjoying - an Andorian frost wine she insisted he would like and he insisted he wouldn't. He realises it is exactly what he didn't know he wanted. It is perfect.

He sighs and takes another sip.

He misses DS9.

He even misses _Quark._

Still, he thinks, as he watches the little blue bubbles drift to the surface of his drink, things _are_ going well. Not only is he on an exploratory mission in the Gamma Quadrant (he still gets goosebumps whenever he thinks about it), but people seem to actually, genuinely _like _him. His staff like him. Troi likes him. Data and Geordi like him. Data not only lets him babble on endlessly but actually _listens_. True, he's still working on Riker (whose initial warm friendliness has inexplicably cooled) and Picard (who at least respects his professional if not his social skills), but it's only been a month, not the friendless _years _he spent on DS9.

In fact, there's nothing at all he would change, nothing at all he would ask for, except ...

The doors sweep open, admitting Garak and his entourage: Rokan, his aide Jortan, and his bodyguard Mantok. Garak (Julian can't help noticing) is looking better than ever. The happiness from having a family (Julian only ever understood his friend's need for it intellectually until now) infuses his face with a softness that was always missing yet now seems natural. His dress is different as well. He has abandoned the brightly coloured garb of a shopkeeper for the elegantly muted attire of a diplomat. He no longer wears a padded thermal shirt (the Enterprise being kept at a higher temperature than DS9) and has let his hair grow longer and less controlled (the latest style on Cardassia) replete with one obligatory, errant curl that Julian is always longing to tuck behind his ear.

Not that he's had much opportunity. Garak is busy for one thing, constantly in meetings to which Julian is rarely invited or else helping Rokan with the hatchlings. When he does have free time, it is invariably spoken for, because Garak is wildly, crazily, stupendously popular. His natural charm and friendliness, now given freer and more genuine reign among people with no reason to resent him, has taken the Enterprise by storm. Every time Garak waltzes into Ten Forward he is swarmed by admirers. Julian can see them advancing purposely now: two ensigns, one lieutenant, and even one of his own nurses.

Julian frowns into his drink, telling himself to be _happy _for Garak. He's _happy _that Garak is being appreciated, that he's not being shunned. He's _happy _that Garak's not lonely and alone. And he _is _but ... he misses him. Garak has been polite, even friendly, the few times they have met - but there's no spark in his eye anymore when he looks at Julian. 

With a tightening chest he realises Garak and his groupies are coming toward him, making for the large table in the corner. Julian grasps his drink tightly and waits for them to pass, but to his surprise, Garak and Rokan pause by his table while the others seat themselves.

"Doctor, not drinking by yourself, I hope?"

"Oh, no. Counselor Troi is joining me."

"I _see_," says Garak, his tone light and arch and teasing.

Julian blushes, which is absolutely the wrong thing to do, but it's all he can manage, thereby confirming Garak's monstrously erroneous and unfair assumption. So he does the only thing he _can_ do, which is ignore him.

"I hope you and the hatchlings are settling in well?" he asks Rokan. 

"Yes, thank you, doctor. It's a little overwhelming, but we're starting to have a routine, and that helps. I've actually been meaning to come to the infirmary – one of the hatchlings has a bit of a rash – but you can't imagine the chaos it is to bring them anywhere." She flutters her hands in the classic Cardassian gesture of apology.

Julian swings his hand sideways, palm up, in a Cardassian gesture of acceptance, relishing the little flicker of surprise in Garak's eyes. "Not to worry. I can easily come by your quarters to check on them, if that's easier?"

"Oh, would you? You are too kind, doctor," She starts to bow as she thanks him (a clear betrayal of her service class background), but catches herself, her scales darkening in embarrassment. Garak places a kind and comforting hand on the small of her back. 

"It's no problem at all," Julian assures her. "I'd love to see them. I'm very fond of children."

"Are you, doctor?" Garak asks, with a certain something in his tone that Julian can't quite place. "Of course, I was forgetting about the O'Brien children. I trust the Chief and Professor O'Brien are well?" 

"Yes, last I talked to them. And you, Tir? Are you well?" Julian stumbles a bit over the title but a) he's not certain how familiar he's entitled to be now, b) they're in public, and c) he understands now how important titles are to Cardassians, and how many years Garak lived without one. 

"Very well, thank you, doctor," Garak replies with a gracious tilt of his head.

Encouraged, Julian presses ahead. "You seem busy. Not too busy to find time to read, I hope? I have some interesting books I could recommend, if you -"

"You're too kind, doctor, but alas, I haven't the time to read as much as I would like," Garak replies, already backing away, bowing in what Julian realises is farewell.

They leave and Julian kicks himself. What was he thinking? Of course Garak wouldn't want to start literature debates with him again. Debating is flirting. Of course that makes Garak uncomfortable. Why is it so difficult for him just to be friends with Garak? 

He is no closer to an answer when Deanna joins him. He stands up and gives her a friendly peck on the cheek. 

"I'm dying for chocolate," she says as she collapses into a seat. Sure enough, mere seconds later a waiter is bringing over a quivering, cream covered mound of pudding. "Oh, that's _perfect,_” she exclaims dreamily. "Tell Guinan she's an _angel_."

They talk for a few moments – or rather, Troi talks and Julian listens. Or rather, tries to listen. Or rather, keeps 5% of his brain on the conversation while the other 95% is busy watching Garak's table, how Nurse Akapo is laughing at something Garak is saying, how that one Ensign is practically in his lap she's leaning over the table so far, how -

"Julian!" Deanna says, poking him none too kindly with her fork. He jumps guiltily and she sighs, looking over at Garak's table where his eyes are still plastered. "You really need to start playing poker with us."

He turns back to her, frowning. "Poker? I don't know, Deanna." For one thing, he finds games based primarily on memory and statistics simplistic and boring. For another thing, he isn't sure Riker – who has been standing by the bar shooting him cold looks – would be too happy about his sudden inclusion.

"Are you sure?" Deanna says around another mouthful of pudding. "Garak will be joining us."

"Really?" Julian says, hearing the inane hope in his voice but not caring in the slightest. It's just what he's been aching for - a chance to reconnect with Garak, to rebuild their friendship. It buoys him up for the rest of the evening, even (almost) allowing him to (mostly) forget about Garak and his (extremely large) gaggle of (fawning) groupies and enjoy himself.


	8. Calling Your Bluff

"Relax, Julian," Deanna says as she pushes the buzzer.

Julian tries to comply, wiping his sweaty hands on his uniform and then placing them firmly behind his back so he won't fidget. Deanna has assured him multiple times that he's welcome at the poker game, but he's been an unwanted pest too often in his life, and too often oblivious to the fact, to be nonchalant about it now. His heart is thumping when the door opens.

Riker's smile shines brilliantly on Deanna Troi; it frosts over when it lands on Julian. "Ah, Doctor, welcome," he says, with a tight-lipped hospitality that does nothing for Julian's nerves.

"Thank you for having me, Commander," Julian says, biting his lip to keep himself from asking if it's okay that he's there, if he's a bother. 

Riker reluctantly stands aside and Julian walks in. Deanna takes the seat next to Riker, leaving Julian the last chair, so that he finds himself across from Garak, flanked by Geordi and Data. 

After polite hellos and a little chit-chat, Riker picks up the cards and gives them a fancy one-handed shuffle as he smiles around the table. "That's all of us, then. Should we get started?" He starts dealing. "The game is five-card stud. Are you familiar with poker, Tir Garak?"

"Intimately, I'm afraid," says Garak. "My roommate while I was on the Defiant, an Ensign Palmer from Georgia, was wildly enthusiastic about it and often held games in our room. I'm afraid I had no choice but to learn." 

Julian opens his mouth to protest – Ensign Palmer was never on the Defiant and even if he was, he certainly had not been Garak's roommate – but he clamps his lips shut when he sees Garak wink at him. 

He's gotten better at winking. It had been mentioned in one of the books they'd read, and Julian had given Garak lessons. It was one of the few things Garak was – quite hilariously – bad at. Cardassians don't really have the proper physiology for winking, and yet somehow, Garak being Garak, has succeeded. Julian wonders how long he spent practicing in front of a mirror in order to produce the polished public version.

Garak is also – surprisingly and yet unsurprisingly – good at poker, keeping up effortlessly with the game and with the conversation and little bits of station gossip. Geordi tells them about a coolant leak that took the best part of the day to track down.

"I was crawling around the Jeffries tubes for hours. You wouldn't believe what a maze it is down there. It's like this whole world that no one gets to see."

"Miles told me he carved his initials somewhere," offers Julian.

"Every engineer who's worked on the Enterprise has done it. The tube of honour, we call it. I can take you there if you like, doc."

"I'd like that."

Geordi turns to Garak. "You're welcome as well, Tir."

"If my schedule allows," demurs Garak.

Julian knows full well that nothing short of an emergency will get Garak crawling around the tubes. He shoots Garak a look that says as much and is rewarded by being studiously ignored.

It's wonderful.

"Gentlemen, the game?" asks Riker.

They play for awhile in relative silence. Julian finds Riker's mood, and specifically his mood toward Julian, improving as the evening progresses. This is because Julian, for all that he can remember every card and compute every probability, is a terrifically terrible poker player.

He groans as his bluff is – once again – called by Riker, who gathers his winnings delightedly.

"Doctor," Data says, head tilted in question. "Does it not make sense to play at your full capacity? I believe your ability to remember the cards and compute statistics is similar to my own."

"It's not my memory that's the problem," Julian laments_. _Julian no longer has as many qualms about being an augment, nor about being compared to a machine. After only a few hours in Data's company Julian realised a) that being an augment does _not _make him like a machine and b) what's so terrible about machines anyway? 

"It is both one of the doctor's greatest strengths, as well as one of his greatest weaknesses, that every emotion is writ plainly on his face," says Garak, who has done rather better than Julian this evening.

Riker grins at Garak. "Even less expressive people have their tells, Tir, in my experience."

"Indeed," replies Garak, adding nothing more.

Julian hasn't noticed anything – he's often oblivious to anything he's not actively focusing on. However, having total recall does have its benefits. He replays the evening swiftly in his mind, watching Garak's movements, and sees that Riker is right. Garak has tells. Why is this so much easier for other people than for him? He supposes other people look at him and math and say the same thing, but it's little consolation in the moment. 

"Tell me, Counsellor, do you employ your abilities when playing the game?" Garak asks Troi.

"Poker? I try not to," she responds, smiling fondly at Julian, "Though some people broadcast their emotions rather loudly."

"It's my understanding that some species are harder for you to read than others?" asks Garak. Julian suspects Garak already knows the answer.

"Yes, although it's more complicated than most people think. The Ferengi, Breen, Ullians, Changelings and Dopterians are impossible for even powerful telepaths to read, but on occasion an empath like myself, whose powers are considerably less, can pick up some trace of emotion."

That surprises Julian and, apparently, Garak, who merely responds again, "Indeed."

"What about Cardassians?" Julian can't help asking.

"_Most_ can be read," says Deanna, glancing slyly at Garak. She shakes her head. "However, they are difficult to read correctly. They seem to hold layers of thoughts, and emotions – even contradictory ones – simultaneously."

"Where would the fun be otherwise?" says Garak.

"You always said there's no such thing as truth," says Julian. "I'm beginning to think you mean it."

"Why, doctor, would I _lie_?"

"Heaven forbid," he answers. Julian is so focused on flirting – no, not flirting, _conversing _– with Garak that he has to be reminded that it's his turn. He looks at his hand hopefully, only to feel the hope plummet like a lead balloon. His only hope is to bluff. He therefore makes the only reasonable move he can, and folds.

He finds it more interesting watching other people, anyway. It's a tense, high-bidding game. In the end, it comes down to just Riker and Garak. Julian, paying attention this time, is 99% certain that Garak is bluffing. Riker obviously believes the same.

"I'm calling your bluff, Tir," he says, turning over his cards.

Garak reveals his cards, his smile widening as Riker's collapses. Collecting his winnings, Garak remarks, "Better luck next time, Commander."

"You're going to make me wait for my revenge, aren't you?" Riker replies, eyeing him with a newfound respect.

"I believe you humans advise one to quit while ahead? Excellent advice."

Troi stands up and stretches. "Will we see you at the concert tomorrow, Tir Garak?"

Julian is half certain he imagines the fugitive look Garak shoots him before responding to Troi, it's sofleeting. "Yes. Lieutenant Zh'Cheen was kind enough to invite me."

Julian is halfway back to his quarters before he pieces it all together.

Garak has a date.


	9. The Lizard Lair

Julian swings by the official quarters of the Cardassian delegation – which he refers to (privately, the Enterprise being more notably correct than Deep Space 9) as the Lizard Lair. He can't help it – it _is _a lair. Cardassians actually prefer to live all packed together with most of the space dedicated to communal rather than personal use. No doubt it's a result of their collective nature, which also no doubt explains how much they _touch _each other. They stand close and sit closer, always with a hand on an arm or the low of a back. The hatchlings are nearly always held by one of the adults and are virtual strangers to their cribs. It's been dawning on him just how difficult exile must have been for Elim.

Julian didn't expect to learn so much about Cardassian culture on a trip into the Gamma quadrant. He finds it fascinatingly odd. He also (as an only, lonely child) finds it extremely appealing. 

"How's he doing?" he asks when Rokan lets him in. He's off duty, but he promised to drop off more of little Rikal's allergy medication. The poor tot is suffering from a particularly bad case of scale hives.

"Much better; he's calmed down tremendously. See for yourself."

Curious, Julian walks over to where Mantok is seated. Rikal is sleeping in his arms while his siblings are busy crawling over his legs. 

"Good evening, Mantok. I see you've got your charges well in hand," Julian says, getting a friendly smile in return. The young man has long since forgiven Julian for his earlier blunder. Julian suspects Garak had a hand in that and is absurdly grateful. 

Mantok bounces Rikal gently and smiles down at him. "Yes, he settled right down after that last dose."

"Good. We'll keep on then, and see how it goes." 

Julian, watching Mantok, wonders if all Cardassians are just naturally good with children or if most come from large communal families where they pick up the skill at a young age.

Rikal comes up and sits on the edge of the couch next to Mantok, reaching over to adjust Rikal's blanket. One of the other hatchlings – Rinden – reaches out a chubby, scaled hand for her finger. "Are you going to Elim's talk tonight?" she asks, tickling Rinden under his chin.

"I wouldn't miss it. I should get going if I don't want to be late, actually." Garak is presenting a critique of Cardassian literature (though Julian strongly doubts there'll be much criticism involved). It's part of a cultural exchange series of talks that Julian tentatively suggested and Picard enthusiastically endorsed, placing Julian in charge. Julian begged Garak to give the first talk, wanting desperately for the idea to be a success. 

Rokan stands up and smooths her dress. "Do you mind if I come with you?" 

"Oh! No, of course not. I didn't know you'd be interested. I mean – being that you're already familiar with it and everything, not that you don't, er, read or anything."

Rokan laughs, and Julian is once again grateful that she seems to find his bumbling endearing. "I do, though I regret that my tastes are not refined enough to appreciate some of our greater works." Rokan, as Julian has noticed, is self conscious of her service class background. She is a poor relation of Garak's, her husband stationed on one of the outer planets where the infant mortality was too high for their liking, and she is very conscious of Garak's generosity in taking her and the hatchlings in.

"I'm curious what your people will think of our literature," adds Mantok.

"But you're not coming?"

Mantok shakes his head. Rokan replies, an impish smile inching onto her face. "Mantok prefers Andorian literature, but don't tell Elim that."

Julian laughs. He likes Mantok more each time he speaks with him. "Your secret is safe with me." He turns to Rokan. "Shall we go?"

Julian waits while Rokan presses hands with Mantok. She does something similar with the hatchlings, pressing their little hands against her palms, like a human parent teaching their child to wave goodbye.

"I haven't had as much time away from the hatchlings, lately," Rokan confesses after they've left.

"I've noticed Garak has been dating a lot," Julian replies, guessing at her meaning. It's true. Garak has gone from not dating in seven years to having multiple dates with multiple people. Not that he's keeping track or anything.

"As is proper. It's past time he were settled and starting a family of his own," she says, and there is both satisfaction and accomplishment in her voice.

Julian suddenly realises why Garak is dating. It's expected. There may be benefits to belonging to a closely connected community, but there are obligations as well. Julian offers a weak smile, feeling smushed. He'd been cherishing an absurd idea (he would not call it hope) that Garak was dating to make him jealous. 

"Hopefully he can find someone he likes," he says.

"Someone suitable, yes."

Julian doesn't miss the slight correction. Cardassians don't typically marry for love.

When they get to the lecture he's pleased to see it's full. He and Rokan separate, her to join friends and him to join Geordi, Data and Captain Picard. It's easier now that he's feeling more settled, less like he has to prove himself. After the proper hellos, Data asks him if he's familiar with Cardassian literature.

"Yes, I am," he says, grinning to himself at the understatement – none of them are aware of his and Garak's now legendary debates in the Replimat. "I even like some of it – but don't tell Tir Garak that." 

Data tilted his head in confusion. "Why would you not want Tir Garak to know that you appreciate Cardassian literature?"

"Because much of Cardassian conversation is a game, taking opposite sides. They love debate," Julian explains. "It's almost rude to agree. Debate forces you to think about and articulate your point. Literature is especially suitable for debate. It's less dangerous than disputing politics but contains just as many convoluted layers."

Captain Picard is nodding. "Yes, I read Preloc's _In the Shadow of the Desert _in preparation for today, but I confess I can make little of it as of yet."

"That's unsurprising; more than half the communication in _Shadow_ comes from second tongue."

"Second tongue?"

"It refers to a very formal and formalised body language. Watching a Cardassian is as important as listening to them if you really want to understand them. I know the rudiments – enough to pick it up in a story - but I can't really read it or speak it." He's been told by Garak, on the few occasions he tried, that he looked like a bad melodrama acted by hatchlings.

"Frankly, you're not selling me on it, Doc." Geordi glances longingly at the exit. "Just how long is the lecture tonight?"

"Not long," Julian reassures him. "But don't worry, Tir Garak is nothing if not entertaining."

And he is. Julian loves listening to Garak. He's a master conversationalist, even by Cardassian standards. He plays with the logic, the words; he builds patterns and then breaks them; he leaps to unexpected peaks; his voice is by turns inviting and challenging. He speaks fluently with his body as well, somehow having learned to combine his native second tongue with the gestures and flourishes of other races.

His topic is the repetitive epic, which Julian never likes except when listening to Garak. The floor is open to questions afterwards. Everyone is too shy to speak up, at first, so Captain Picard, as appropriate, does the duty.

"There is much repetition in human tragedies. One of our great thinkers, Freud, called repetition a compulsion, a basic drive of humans, and that although there is often great pleasure in repetition itself, that we are also condemned to repeat the patterns of our past. I wonder, Tir, if Cardassians view repetition solely as a good?"

"Yes, in that our literature focuses on the State and the cycles of nature rather than on individual lives. Our tragedies come from external forces; human tragedies arise from individual faults."

As expected, once the first question has been asked, more crowd behind. Julian isn't really listening, though. Picard's remark is stuck in his head and he can't stop thinking about it. His mind is of course attuned to patterns, but he's never really applied that thinking to himself, to his behaviours. He has this nagging feeling that there's something he's missing, something he should think about.


	10. Getting It Right

On a whim, feeling a bit wound up after a complicated but successful surgery, Julian stops outside Ten Forward on his way back to his quarters after his shift. He's not much in the mood to converse with strangers or acquaintances, but he'd enjoy an Andorian frost wine in a quiet corner of the room. Coming in, though, he is greeted by a highly unusual sight: Garak, alone at a small table, contemplating the passing stars and sipping thoughtfully from a tumbler of red-blue kanar.

Julian hesitates, then approaches. Garak doesn't move his head, Julian is sure he is aware of him – indeed, is aware of everything in the room.

"Am I disturbing you?" he asks.

"No, not at all, doctor. Please join me." Garak flicks a hand to indicate the empty seat across from him, a teasing smile working its way into his eyes as he repeats the invitation offered to Julian all those years ago on DS9, "Enhance my evening."

Julia returns the smile as he slides into his seat. "Thank you. I was in the mood for some enjoyable company."

He catches a waiter's eye and orders his drink. They sit in easy silence for a while, both of them wrapped up in their thoughts and the blackness of space whirring past.

Julian twirls his finger round his glass. "This is nice," he says at last.

"It is."

"We haven't had much of a chance to talk, really. In fact, I was more than a little surprised to see you on your own tonight."

"Ah, yes. Well, Lt. Brecks was called away on duty and had to cancel our date."

"That's unfortunate."

"Yes," Garak agrees, though he doesn't sound at all sorry or put out. He sounds, Julian thinks, tired and a little relieved. 

It occurs to Julian that maybe Garak doesn't want to be dating at all, that it's an obligation, an expectation now that he has a family, a place on Cardassia again. Even if a family is something Garak wants – and he does, Julian is sure of it – does it follow that he wants to marry someone who will likely remain a virtual stranger to his real nature, to his past, to his fears? He can't imagine Garak opening up to someone easily, trusting easily, after everything he's been through.

It's this, perhaps, that gives him the courage to do what he's been thinking about doing non stop for weeks, ever since Garak's lecture. 

Julian takes a long, fortifying drink of wine, then places the glass down carefully and places his hands flat against the table. "Garak," he says.

Garak glances up with an affable smiles and Julian's gut does a somersault. He shakes his head and tries again. 

"Elim."

Now he has Garak's undivided attention, and that is terrifying and also exactly what he wants. He stares down at his drink, fiddling with it, not daring to look up. "I've been thinking a lot about you and me, and .. and .. I wanted to know if you would give me a second chance."

He casts a hopeful glance up, but Garak's eyes are troubled, sad.

"Julian," Garak says, his tone heavy. 

"Wait," Julian says, "Let me explain. I know ... I know what you're thinking. I know what I said, that I'm not interested in a commitment, just my career. I know you think I'm ignoring that and that I'm going to change my mind later."

Garak doesn't say anything, which means he's right, and Garak does want him, but is afraid of having his heart broken again Julian finds his own heart breaking at the thought and vows never to put Elim in that position again.

"Ever since we were together, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. But I didn't do anything about it, because I knew I couldn't give you a commitment. And then, well, several things made me think about that more. If I didn't want a commitment, why did I keep fantasizing about us building a life together?"

There's a bit of surprise in Garak's eyes and it gives Julian courage. He reaches out tentatively with his hand and lays it gently over Garak's.

"What I realised was that ... I was just acting on auto-pilot. When I was younger, I knew I couldn't get close to anyone because of my enhancements. So I told myself I didn't want to be with anyone - it hurt less when I convinced myself it was a choice, a preference, and not a necessity. After awhile, I started to believe the lie. The truth is I do want a commitment. I do want a family. And I want it with you, Elim."

Garak is looking at him like a drowning man looks at dry land. He swallows, then speaks. "I've never wanted anyone but you, Julian, not really."

Julian reaches up and tenderly brushes back that one unruly strand of hair he's been dying to touch for ages. Garak's neck ridges flush and he straightens up as Julian takes his hand away, clearly embarrassed by being so sentimental in public, likely about admitting such sentiments at all. He leans back and raises an arch eye ridge. "And what about Counselor Troi?'

Ah, they're flirting. Julian grins. He can do flirting. Flirting is good. Flirting is excellent. "What about her?" he asks.

"She seems to enjoy your company."

"Many people do. Why?" he asks, "Don't tell me you're jealous?"

"I wasn't the one moping around like a lost puppy."

"Just because you're very good at hiding your feelings doesn't mean you don't have them, you know, much as you try to convince yourself otherwise."

"And you're an expert on my feelings, are you?"

"I consider myself the leading expert in the field."

"Is that right? Then what am I feeling right now, pray?" 

Julian gazes at him adoringly. "The same thing I am, I hope."

Garak grins and interlaces his fingers with Julian. "Hungry?"

Julian laughs. "Exactly."

Yes. He loves this man and he has no doubt in his mind that he's finally making the right choice.


	11. A Slight Mixup Resolved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a kind of crummy couple of days so wanted to post something quick and fun - hope you enjoy!

"Oh, sorry!" Julian nearly smashes into his commanding officer as he barrels down the corridor. He can't help it, he's too excited. He's on his way to pick up Garak and then they're going to have their first official date. Julian's booked a romantic adventure in the holosuite and he's told Garak to wear a tux.

"Doctor," Will says, frowning politely. "On your way to the holosuites?" he asks, obviously trying not to show his obvious dislike.

"Yes, I am. I've got a date," Julian knows he's grinning like the proverbial idiot, but he really, really can't help himself. He doesn't even care if he looks like an idiot in front of Riker – that's how happy he is.

"Ah. I don't know if she told you, but Deanna's actually not that fond of holosuite dates."

"Oh, isn't she?" Julian answers blithely. "That's too bad."

"Well, I hope you and she have a good time," Riker forces himself to say as he prepares to step around Julian.

"Me and Deanna?"

"Yes, doctor. You and your date."

Julian scrunches up his eyes in confusion. "Why does everyone think I'm dating Deanna?" he asks.

"You're not?"

"No, we're just friends. She's very nice, you know."

Will gives a wry grin. "I'm aware."

Suddenly he's looking at Julian with much more warmth and friendliness – bonhomie even, a twinkle in his eyes, and suddenly Julian gets it. All the little comments and looks and coldness, and a few things that Deanna said. He grins back, now that he's in on the joke. He's in love and he wants everyone to be in love, so he leans forward confidentially. "Ah, well, you, um, might not have noticed, Commander, but I'm not always as observant as I could be. I'm actually quite clueless sometimes."

Will laughs and pats him on the back. "You're not the only one. So, who's the lucky lifeform?"

Julian blushes. "Mmm, well, that would be Garak."

"Garak?" Will says with a dramatic lift of his eyebrows.

"It took me awhile to see what was right in front of me," Julian admits with a shrug.

"You're not the only one."

Will bids him goodnight, and Julian can't help but notice he's no longer walking in the same direction and that, coincidentally, his new trajectory will take him right past a certain Counselor's quarters.

Julian smiles, adjusts his tux and hurries on to his own adventure.


	12. The Final Chapter

Julian wakes up the next morning still hungover with giddiness. The holosuite was a success. It turns out that Garak is a lot more fun when he's actually invited along. He even got into the spirit of it – including a rather brilliant seduction of an enemy spy that had Julian squirming with jealousy and need, much to Garak's amusement. Garak spent the rest of the evening coyly evading Julian's advances, only to corner him on the way out and kiss him half to death.

Julian bounces out of his rumpled bed, grabs a quick shower and throws on his uniform before hurrying out without even checking himself in the mirror. He waits impatiently for the turbolift and then strides down the corridor just a little more quickly than is seemly. They are meeting for breakfast in Ten Forward, but in his eagerness he's early, and to his disappointment, Garak's not there. In fact, nearly no one is – Ten Aft is much more popular with the morning crowd. 

Captain Picard is there, however, sitting alone reading a book, a real book, with a leather cover and gold embossed lettering and everything. His confidence swelled by his good mood, Julian sails over and assaults him with his cheerfulness. "Good morning, Captain! What are you reading? Oh, Stevenson. Did you know he suffered from hemorrhaging lungs likely caused by undiagnosed tuberculosis and that writing was one of the few activities he could do while confined to bed?"

"How interesting," murmurs Picard, attempting to return to his book and his rapidly cooling tea.

"Yes, he was a very interesting fellow. And of course I always loved his writing. It was so full of adventure. I feel Starfleet is like that, don't you? Always the opportunity to see new places. It's why I was so excited when this mission came up. I mean, the Gamma Quadrant!" 

"Quite," says Picard. He optimistically goes for another sip of tea only to put it down with a sigh as he picks up a professional mask of welcome. "Good morning, Tir Garak."

"Captain, doctor," Garrick nods, then turns on Julian, flicking his eyes over him and sniffing. "I hadn't realized Starfleet was so casual in its dress code, doctor."

Julian's idiotic grin falls. "What!? What are you talking about?"

Garak leans back to take him in from head to toe, crossing his arms and then flicking his fingers at the various parts of Julian's uniform as he speaks. "Your shoes, while not exactly scuffed, hardly shine. Your socks are slightly mismatched , your trousers are creased in all the wrong places and your hair is ... well." He opens his hand as if he can't even describe the state of Julian's hair.

Picard, taken back, is trying to gauge the situation and is scrutinising Garak. Julian, who knows very well the bloody lizard is doing this on purpose, throws him an indignant glare and mouths _Elim, you shit!_

Garak refrains from returning him a shit-eating grin and frowns. "Of course, that is not the worst of it. What is appalling and frankly offensive are the teeth marks I can see on your neck." Garak turns his frown on Picard. "Surely, Captain, you don't condone this?" he asks, with a sharp raise of his eye ridge.

Picard, bless him, though he frowns at Julian, stands by him. "I'm sure Doctor Bashir meant no offense."

"What do intentions have to do with anything? How odd you humans are. I will be satisfied, however, if Doctor Bashir apologizes."

This is too much for Julian, who's all but forgotten Picard is there. "I bloody well will not!" he growls.

"And why not?" demands Garak.

"Doctor – " Picard begins.

"Because they're your teeth marks you overstuffed lizard!" he all but shouts.

Garak, having gotten a rise out of Julian like he wanted, beams in delight. He turns to Picard. "You must excuse us, Captain," he says sweetly, "I'm aware it's atrociously ill-natured of us to flirt so blatantly in public."

"Flirting," Picard says.

"Perhaps you didn't know. Cardassians flirt through debate, argument - even insults. And while it's true Julian and I have been flirting for years, we've only recently embarked on a committed relationship and we're in the can't stop arguing with each other phase of our relationship.

"I see," said Picard, who is obviously revisiting some earlier memories. "My congratulations, then."

Garak nods graciously, then turns to a still flushed Julian. "Julian, love, I have to cancel. Rokan needs a hand with the hatchlings. Lunch?"

Julian figures he must be in love because he nods, having already forgiven the insufferable bastard. They press palms and Garak goes, leaving only an uncomfortable silence. Julian swallows and turns to Picard. "I'm awfully sorry, sir."

"Sit down, doctor," replies Picard. Julian does so gingerly. Picard takes a napkin and spreads it on his knee, signalling for breakfast. "You haven't eaten, have you?" he asks, and Julian shakes his head. Faster than he can blink there are two breakfasts laid out and, after seeing Picard breaking open a roll, Julian hesitantly picks up his fork. 

"We haven't had a chance to get acquainted," Picard says after a moment, considering him, then shaking his head. "For which I apologise. I admit I had some reservations when you were assigned to the Enterprise, doctor, how you would function on a starship on the Enterprise after serving so long on a space station such as Deep Space 9." He pours himself another cup of tea and fills Julian's as well. "You're not quite what I expected, and perhaps we got off on the wrong foot – it was a rather stressful time."

Julian accepts the apology. It's not like he was at his best, either. But now ... now things are looking up. He smiles and lifts his mug in a sudden toast. "To getting it right," he says, "the second time round."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading! I may make this a series and write another fic at some point; I feel like there's still a lot of the gamma quadrant left unexplored!


End file.
